Nobody Cares (Except One Person Did)
by WriKai
Summary: This was my fault, all my fault right now. I hadn't been paying attention. And now, now I've lost the only person in the Commonwealth who truly cared about others; the only person I could fall in love with. SS/Hancock Rated M for character death


In the wastes, shit happens sometimes.

People live, people die. People lust and want and take chems and act like there are no rules, because let's face it, there really aren't any. If you kill a man or ghoul or mutt or mutated creature, who's going to come after you?

No one, really.

No one gives a shit if you live or die, and nobody has the balls to do something about it.

Well, that's a bit of a lie. Some people have the balls to protect others. _Of the people, for the people_. That whole mantra that you'd be surprised to hear coming from the mouth of a ghoul, who runs arguably the seediest town due to a militaristic takeover.

But he gave a shit, he really did, and it astounded me every single damn day that he genuinely cared about those around him. He was a ruthless bastard at times, most definitely, but he was also a kind man. He made sure his people were taken care of properly. And he didn't just want to be out in his office, ruling over everyone like a king or a lord or a dictator. He wanted to be out in the Commonwealth, making sure he knew how to run the city like a better person.

To be a good king, sometimes you must spend time as a soldier to truly understand what your people need. And that's exactly what John Hancock was willing to do. That was exactly what he wanted when he decided to travel with me.

In my time, there had been a motto among the police and governing offices that were supposed to keep citizens safe. _Protect and Serve._ It was like Hancock's motto, but a bit blunter and a bit easier to construe this way or that.

He embodied that, though. Protecting others. Serving his people by learning how to take care of them best. He would die to protect one of his own.

It's funny, how you learn the most truth in death instead of life. Like the hard truth of fact that this was my fault, all my fault right now. I hadn't seen the damn Gunner. I hadn't been paying attention. I'd been so certain we'd gotten them all, and too busy picking the damn lock on the safe that ended up being worthless, that I hadn't seen the Gunner behind me.

But Hancock had. He'd been checking out some weapon or other, and he'd seen the Gunner when I hadn't.

Hancock jumped, screaming my name as a shot rang out through the cramped space. I turned, seeing the Gunner. One crouch, four shots, and he was nothing but ashes and dust. Hancock was behind an armor workbench, sitting, rooting around his jacket for something. I looked down at myself, and saw nothing was wrong with me.

Then I looked over at Hancock a second time. He wasn't rooting around his jacket anymore. He was putting pressure on something. On his stomach.

No.

No no no no no.

He was supposed to be immortal, dammit! FUCKING IMMORTAL!

"John?" I asked, too afraid to move towards him. He turned to me, smiling a bittersweet smile.

"I think I took one hit too many, doll." He told me. I knew he wasn't talking about chems, though. That was when my feet moved, scrambling to get to him. We'd been through so much together, too much. I'd grown close to him.

I loved him.

I couldn't lose him now.

"You're gonna be fine." I told him. "Lemme just get a stimpack out of my bag and you'll be good to go."

"We don't have any more." He told me hoarsely. I froze for a minute, vividly remembering the last time we'd used a stimpack. I'd been sliced at by a Deathclaw. Barely made it out of it.

"You told me we had five left." I said. I'd asked him about it, made sure we rationed those things properly. I knew we were low, but I had trusted Hancock when he gave me three, promising that there were five more where they came from.

"You would've died without all three." He answered, giving me a small smile. I rooted around again, looking for something, anything that could help us. '

But I had nothing. No food. No stimpacks. Just a few chems and a bottle of whiskey. I stood up, quickly rooting around in the room. No stimpacks. No food. No chemistry table. Just a useless armor workbench and a comic book on picking locks.

"No." I whispered, searching the dead Gunner's ashes. Rounds, yes. Frag grenades, yes. Molotov cocktails, yes.

There was a single tato on him, covered in ash now. I stared at the object, turning to Hancock, and realized it was useless. A single fucking tato wasn't going to save him.

Nothing was.

"Come 'ere, doll." He said, beckoning me closer. I dropped the useless fruit, and kneeled before him. "No, don't do that." He said, moving a bloodstained hand to my face. I watched him wipe away a tear I hadn't realized was forming. "Don't do that, Danny. You know how I feel about crying."

Danny. My name was Danielle, and he was the only person in all the Commonwealth I allowed to call me Danny.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, scrunching my eyes closed and looking down. My fault. All my fault. I shouldn't have been so cocky, so reckless, so STUPID.

"Don't be." He ordered, placing a hand under my chin. He forced my head up, so I had to look at him. "Ah, there we go." He muttered, smiling. "One last trip."

I thought I understood him, and I immediately rooted around my pack for whatever chems I had. "I've got some jet and mentats." I offered him, knowing his preference for the latter. Took the jet, surprisingly, and pushed away the mentats.

"I didn't mean the chems, sweetheart." He muttered, inhaling the jet quickly. "But that'll help this last trip go on for just a little longer for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Words don't begin to do it justice, Danny." He answered, looking up at me like… Like I was important to him. Like all the chems in the world would be thrown out in an instant, because he was happy just staring at the person in front of him.

Like he was just so happy to see me, and so at peace with it.

"You," he raised a hand to tuck some hair behind my face. "You're the best thing I got."

That was when I finally understood it. I shook my head, unsure how to comprehend this. "Don't do this to me now, John." I begged. "Not now, please. Not when I can't do anything to save you."

"I'm sorry." He apologized. I kept trying to shake my head, but he stopped me with a firm grip under my chin. "Let me tell you this, please."

"Only if you live." I answered. Please let him live. Please, whatever gods are left to watch and rule and bet on this shithole, let him live.

"Not gonna happen, doll." He reminded me. Before I could look away, he spoke up. "I love you, and I have since the day you broke in to my warehouse." He pulled me in quick for a short kiss, one that you give when you know it's your first and your last. He was smiling when he pulled away, smiling at me like he was on a high he was never getting off of. "Always wanted to do that." He whispered.

Then his eyes were closed, and I knew he was gone.

I hadn't even gotten to tell him I loved him back.

John Hancock had been a good man. _Of the people, for the people_ , better than any Minuteman or Railroad Agent or BoS guy I'd ever met. He didn't have a specific, set goal for the Commonwealth. He only had rules for how he treated and interacted with people, on an individual basis.

"If someone needs help, we help 'em. If someone needs hurting, we hurt 'em." He'd explained to me one day, when I asked him about how he was who he was. "It's not hard."

John Hancock had been a good man, a man I hadn't deserved to know or have love me.

And it was my fault he was gone now. But what could I do about it? The only person I could've taken vengeance out on, I'd already killed before it'd become important.

In the wastes, shit happens sometimes.

People live, people die. And if someone kills the ghoul you love most, the ghoul who was a better person than any normal human you've ever met, what's there to do about it?

Absolutely nothing, because nobody cares to do anything.

Nobody but him had ever cared before.


End file.
